Making like tourists and a tour of Progressland.

Small cough of unaccustom.  A bit of a blogging hiatus, due to health issues, a touch of ennui, and a burgeoning ceramics obsession  – who’d’ve thought porcelain seedpods could be so utterly captivating? 

Sydney Harbour Bridge

Anyway.  All that notwithstanding…

Progress of a sort has been made. Or might have been made.  Is it too early for a small, parping fanfare?  Probs.  Too much touching wood to break out the trumpet  – it could just as easily turn out to have been  a collective lurch towards planning stalemate.

So. On Friday the  Senior Architect, the Junior Architect, the Senior Heritage Housing Officer, a different type of Heritage Officer, the older Pimps, Old uncle Tom Cobleigh and all (and all) met for an ‘informal’ chat about the planned changes.

It was the Different Type Of Heritage Officer we were all trying to impress, btw,  by being, you know,  all effortless and soignée.  By sitting loose-limbed and nonchalant in our chairs and sliding our requests over as if they were already fact.  As if they were ripe plums falling so persuasively and unobtrusively at her feet that she would see them for the gems they were and would sighingly, achingly gather them up and then lead us,hand in hand, towards rapturous approval and rapid completion. 

It didn’t work quite that way, of course – the things we really wanted stood out like shiny sore thumbs.  Like red eruptions on the nose. Eagerness beaded our shiny foreheads.  Mr Pimp and I felt more like children at the mercy of a (potentially) withholding adult. Please Miss,  if we’re very, very good, may we have an upstairs bathroom?Mais oui?  Things seemed to go well.  There was a bit of tooth sucking about the Juliet balconies but no other body language we could interpret as Terribly Bad Signs.  Then we all trouped through to the house.  The collective body language seemed to stiffen up a little at this point. Pieces of wood that might have to be surrendered.  Bits of stone lost. We trailed from room to room, explaining our plans in a manner that was  mixed supplication and  assumed rights.

I didn’t go with them to the top floor.  I couldn’t stand to hear what she might say about the upstairs bathroom. Couldn’t stand still while she cast her beautiful impassive eyes over me to see whether I was the sort of person who should be accorded the privilege of not having to traipse down a flight of stairs to have a pee in the middle of the night.  The architect came back downstairs very Cheshire cattishly. He felt she was warm-ish about the idea. 

So we shall see. 

But anyway, things are moving.  The schedule for repairs has been passed by the very lovely Housing Heritage Officer (not to be confused with the Heritage Officer) and is with the government’s legal dept now.  Our DA for the changes is creaking and lurching towards submission.  Only the Hydraulic Engineer and the Structural Engineer  to do their reports and a few bits of mimsying over the plans and we may be in some sort of business

All pictures taken from Miss Pimpalicious’s phone in the gloaming on Sunday after we went for a potter around the Archibald and then made like tourists in the house’s local area.


6 Responses to “Making like tourists and a tour of Progressland.”

  1. suzanne Says:

    I’m hoping this does not turn out like the episode of Grand Designs, where one couple had a run in with the London Symphony Orchestra. That shot of C.Quay is lovely.

    • I remember that episode – the slow collision of two immoveable objects. One rather high-handed, the other rather dodoesque. God, I hope we don’t come to that.

  2. the plot thickens.

  3. Dear Pimpmybricks,
    It’s now the end of September and having just visited this part of your writing which was compiled in May I am aware of just how “time” seems to disappear with the process or is it that we are in a “time warp” in Dawes Point.
    There seems to be a very different consciousness of time.

    The wonderful Mr T.S. seems to put it in a way that tangles up the feelings that notions that pervade.

    “Time present and time past,
    Are both perhaps present in time future,
    And time future contained in time past.
    If all time is eternally present
    All time is unredeemable.”

    Your house is full of “time past,” and “time future.”
    For a while I think it has been a house with “time” waiting.

    • At a quick glance, that quote looks like it should come from the 4 Quartets? We have a cottage in the village next to East Coker and, having picked it quite by chance, I later found that most of my forebears lived in East Coker too. I like that sort of co-incidence.

      And how right you are about the time – it IS a different sense of time there. One that moves to a bureaucratic shuffle. Architects too seem to go at a similar pace. The end result is that if you like a faster mode, one that actually registers movement, you’re made to feel like an impatient child. Something to be tolerated until too annoying and then brushed off with a tsk.

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